Unlike Father, Unlike Son
by SamanthaTL
Summary: Modern-Day AU. Following the death of his adoptive parents, Legolas traces back to his roots in search of a family he could call home. He is soon engulfed in the clash of two completely polar personalities when he finally meets his real father, a corporate bigwig residing lavishly in Beverly Hills.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: These characters are JRR Tolkien's and not mine._

_A/N: I scrapped my other fic in progress (I might repost, or not) and switched on over to Modern-Day AU. It will be kind of weird._

* * *

><p>He likes how invigorating the wind feels against his face. How he thinks he's not contributing to air pollution. And his topmost, and secret, motivation; it keeps him out of the gym.<p>

He has always hated the gym. He has not a singular pleasant memory from gym class in high school.

And even though high school felt like eons of years ago to him, Legolas Greenleaf has managed to stay the same way he did during the most part his youth. At twenty-four, he is still a free spirit who refuses the pressure of society's mandate. He loves camping, fronts a heavy metal band, and is deeply attached to his Superfly FS 8 bike.

Complete with helmet and his rugged old bag, the same one from high school, he whistles as he tears down the winding streets of his hometown in Thousand Oaks, California on his preferred mode of transportation.

One day as it clicked altogether when he was roughly nine years old, he figured out Thousand Oaks was not really his hometown. That he was displaced from another part of the state, possibly the more affluent side. And the parents who raised him clearly do not have the same impossible blue eyes; porcelain skin and immaculate bleached blond hair that he naturally possesses.

He sticks out in every family and class photo like a sore thumb.

Regardless, he held his adoptive parents very dear to him.

Three years prior, both died from a car accident which nearly drove him into depression. After inheriting a fair amount of money, he sold their beautiful house on Potrero Road because he couldn't find things to put in the extra rooms, and the sights, scents and memories tied to his parents lingered and it did nothing but crush his heart. He flagged himself a humble apartment away from the lake but still close to the foot of the mountains.

He is an arbourist. Climbing trees and lifting heavy logs have earned him hard muscles and lean physique. It allows him to be surrounded by nature. Nothing gives him more comfort than the expanse of the outdoors.

He arrives at his destination and jumps from his bike, lifting it off the road and onto the grassy elevated fields of the city cemetery. With a steady hand on the handlebar of the bike, he reaches for his bag behind him with the other one, pulling two small bouquets of mixed wild flowers.

There's a patch of stubborn tall grass that grows wildly around the area where his late parents lay that the maintenance crew always seems to overlook. Peering down at his mother's and then his father's tombstone with glossy eyes he holds back a tear, hiccupping as he bends over to place the flowers on the earth.

The epitaph simply reads:

_In Loving Memory of Inwen and Saeros Greenleaf_

"Merry Christmas, mom, dad."

* * *

><p>On the eight floor of an old apartment building, the elevator door struggles to slide open and Legolas steps out with his bike in tow. Even the kind of ding the elevator bell makes is questionable but it doesn't bother him anymore. He quickly runs a hand over his pocket to ensure his iPhone is intact and adjusts the volume of his earphones as he listens to a familiar voice on the other line.<p>

"I'm thinking this year you should come tomorrow before midnight. We'll have a Christmas Eve dinner and then we'll open presents while we're stuffed."

Tauriel is Legolas' girlfriend, partner in crime, and college sweetheart. Her hair is red and tousled, oftentimes braided. She has mossy green eyes and a mousy face, dimples that dig deep. They initially met in a college library fighting over a used book.

Legolas wrinkles his nose at the invitation he knew was coming his way.

"I don't know, Tauriel. I'm not feeling the holiday spirit. I downloaded a couple of movies to re-watch and was just planning to stay in. Make some popcorn. Double butter," he invites her, breathing heavily at the word 'butter'.

"Paranormal Activity and Blair Witch Project?" she asks coyly.

This highly impresses Legolas. "You know what I like."

"Legolas, honey, my mom is making your favourite lasagna for Christmas. You have no choice but to come over," Tauriel smiles into her cell phone.

She got him. Mama Tauriel's homemade, ground chicken lasagna with feta and ricotta cheese is one of his weaknesses. He shakes his head and chuckles. "This would be my fourth holidays with your whole family. I feel like I'm intruding and I always end up eating most of the food." He turns the key in the lock. "I have no shame."

He carefully leans his bike against the wall by the washroom after kicking his apartment door open, resting his bag on the floor.

"Alright you pulled my leg. I will come over to your place so we can still have our gift exchange, ok?" Tauriel suggests patiently.

"I love you," Legolas feels lucky and humble.

"I love you too, weirdo."

He hangs up and places his cell phone on top of a bookcase. On a shelf where he keeps his business course material from college, he eyes down a piece of folded white paper sandwiched halfway between an old Marketing book and a Macro Economics book.

Everyday that he enters his apartment, he blinks knowingly at this piece of paper, as if it is waiting to be yanked out. He knows what is written on it. He knows what he is capable of doing with it.

Today he takes a deep breath and snatches the paper awake from its dormant state. He flips it open and is re-acquainted with his late adoptive mother's cursive writing in ballpoint pen.

Back in the day when young Legolas underwent phases in which he was especially curious about his biological parents and his background, his mother always told him he was more than welcome to seek them. She was willing to be the bridge, even if it pinched her heart.

He stares at the ink and the curves, quietly waiting for them to come alive. Sprawled across the paper are the name and the phone number of an adoption services agency.

* * *

><p>Sometimes she can't read him at all.<p>

Tauriel sits on one end of the couch, elbows resting atop her knees, one hand running down her face. The conversation drifting in Legolas' living room keeps hobbling in a tired circle and so does Legolas.

He suddenly stops pacing back and forth and plops down on a black recliner by the window. This summons his pet cat Seven to spring up from nowhere and claw her way to his lap. Legolas greets her by generously petting her head.

"I'm going to do it. I should do it, don't you think?" he asks Tauriel but not for the first time. The cat helps her answer by purring and putting her paw on his kneecap.

"…Yes I encourage you to do it if you think you are up and ready for it," Tauriel says.

Legolas winces as if he is in pain, eyes darting between Tauriel's head and the wall behind her. He avoids the piercing on his right eyebrow as he takes a swipe across his temple.

"I don't know. What if they totally reject me again...like what they did in the first place...hence the story of my life?" he talks in broken sentences and barely a dash of confidence.

"But you don't know that, right?," she keeps both hands on her cheeks. "What if it works out this time?"

"And what if it doesn't. It will be twice the hurt."

"Alright then," she shifts in her seat and throws her hands up. "Don't do it. No pressure."

Legolas sighs, drawing loops in the gray fur of his cat. "Although, I've been thinking about it for quite a while now. It would be nice to meet them…" his face completely drops for a split second and Tauriel is able to catch it.

Feeling sad from realizing that this is giving Legolas a difficult time, she leaves the couch and saunters over to him, shooing the cat off his lap. She stands by his side and makes him look up at her by placing her pointy finger under his chin.

"Legolas, I know you've already made a decision in your mind. Don't let any doubt stop you," her green eyes dance with his blue. "Whatever your heart is telling you to do, you should follow it, and I'm here to support you. I wouldn't want you to regret anything."

* * *

><p>The San Diego Freeway is nearly empty on a Saturday morning when Legolas strapped his bike onto the back of his black Prius and made a southbound trip to Beverly Hills. He does not quite know what to expect, or how to handle a bad reaction if his parents refuse to give him a warm reception.<p>

However, he is mildly intrigued by the identity of his father. He remembers the looks he was given by some associates working in the adoption agency when they recognized his real last name as they handed him his documents.

Thranduillion. He is a "Legolas Thranduillion". He snorts at how silly it sounds. Almost like royalty, he thinks.

He shrugs at pretty much everything and turns left into a plaza to park his car in front of a Walgrens. He plucks the bike off the car and studies the map app on his phone one more time before he jumps onto the seat.

The December sun is blasting down and is well received by lineups of palm trees, casting funky shadows on the spotless sidewalks of such a world-renowned icon of sophistication that houses A-list celebrities and pompous socialites. Legolas ignores the condescending glances he is thrown by overdressed people and their army of shopping bags; brand names in big font slapped across the front.

He is dressed down to a simple blue windbreaker over a black shirt and ripped jeans, a smile plastered to his face as he continues to ride his bike in a carefree glow. Trendy people, so clean and beautiful, walking on the spotless sidewalks of Beverly Hills turn their noses up at him and it makes him want to pull up his sleeves to showcase his arms.

"Wait 'til they see my anarchy tattoo," he half-threatens them in his mind. "And my Libra scales…and my dream catchers…" he continues to list the tattoos that decorates the rest of his torso.

As he turns into the street of his destination, his train of thought is distracted by the sudden change in size of the houses. The mansions have sprung up grander than the other obnoxious mansions on the avenue where he started. The gates are higher and more solid. The number of driveways with parked Mercedes and Bentleys has doubled.

Finally he stares down a particular white mansion with towering pillars along the front patio, nestled deep inside a massive lot with a glamorous, oversized fountain smack in the middle of a roundabout.

He gapes at the golden address number "20" embellished with black trimmings against the nine-footer golden gates. He quickly pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and glances to check the address again if he is stalking the correct house.

"_No way_," he thinks to himself, and begins to doubt if he even wants to continue and press the brass button that is supposedly the gate bell. He shoves the paper back into his pocket.

He takes in a deep breath before he turns on his heel with the other foot already poised over the bike pedal. He thinks the adoption agency might have screwed up his documents and he is ready to file the day away and drive back to Thousand Oaks.

But even before he is able to mount his bike, his eyes narrow at a white CLA 45 AMG Mercedes leisurely rolling down the winding pathway towards the residence gate where he is standing frozen in his tracks. Bogged by renewed curiosity, he waits until the car makes a full stop right in front of the gate and is inches from his front tire.

He stalls in silence and so does the car. Seconds stretch before the driver side window starts to roll halfway down in its full tinted glory. Legolas' hand is off the handlebar and is back into his jean pocket to fish out his document.

"You have ten seconds to get off my property," a man coolly says as his head appears behind the window, sporting long bleached blond hair that flows down well below his chest. His thick, dark eyebrows are slightly crunched behind a pair of designer aviator shades.

Legolas starts to fidget. Before he is aware of it, his hand holding the battered paper is shaking and his kneecaps are feeling funny. He tries to piece things together, bouncing looks between the paper and the man who seems he's already had enough.

"Umm…hello good afternoon," he begins, internally kicking himself for stuttering.

The man behind the wheel turns to the woman with long blonde locks sitting on the passenger seat, also covered in designer shades big enough that it takes up half of her face. "The paparazzi are getting younger. This is a concern," he says under his breath but loud enough for Legolas to hear.

The woman leans in and peers out of the driver window to smile lazily at Legolas.

"I want to be nice to the less fortunate, so I promised to be of decent manner towards the paparazzi," she says, struggling to talk in a louder tone. "Please no pictures."

"I am no paparazzi, ma'am," Legolas corrects her. This seems to bother the woman.

There is no indication of the man's facial expression except the slight movement of his eyebrows. "Then what in the world are you?" he asks condescendingly.

Legolas is oblivious to how big of an asshole the man is. On any other normal day he would've already punched him in the nose. "Are you Mr. Oropherion? Thranduil Oropherion, sir?"

"I asked you first. What are you, and what is your business on my property?" the man repeats, shaking his head magnificently.

More uneasy silence stretches the distance between the two, and Legolas now looks like he's about to keel over. Still peering from inside the passenger seat, the woman's face moulds into a slow realization as she gingerly takes the frame of her shades and lowers it down her nose, dark brown eyes scrutinizing the other bleached blond man standing close outside their car.

"Well?..." the man persists, straight-faced, ready to call security.

Legolas is anxious and beyond confused and he is not hiding any of it.

"My name is Legolas and I'm twenty-four and I drove all the way from Thousand Oaks and I'm here because I think you're my dad."


	2. Chapter 2

A machine hidden in a wall whirs and the gate finally slides open.

Thranduil zones out as he gapes at a younger version of himself mirror the same face he is making. While the woman beside him twitters away unnecessary side comments, he slams on the gas and screeches his way through the entrance to his mansion.

And instead of fleeing the scene, Legolas decides to be stubborn and nestles himself by the concrete wall where the gates connect. He camps below the brass bell, checking how far he can go until his 'father' would have to come back to kick him out himself.

Fifteen minutes is all it takes for Legolas to start nodding off as he leans against the wall, waiting for anybody to either tell him to go away or to arrest him. He raves about the grass and how soft and smooth it feels underneath him, quickly lulling him to take a nap.

He shudders. "This place needs some anarchy," is his last thought before comfort claims him and his eyelids start to droop.

He dreams a very rapid dream. In that dream is a series of moving pictures, tainted by time, zooming in an out like a bad documentary. There is an old picture of his adoptive mother in the middle of a crowd; a familiar smile on her face as he walks off the stage, graduating from high school. His adoptive father, strong and gentle, teaching him how to ride a bike in an empty church parking lot. His cat Seven curled up by the window in his apartment. Tauriel, brushing her teeth and yapping away at the same time, bubbles dropping from her mouth onto his foot.

And finally, a picture he hasn't seen before. He is aware he is being prepped for a family picture, but not with his adoptive parents this time. He sits in the middle of a bright photography studio, head turned towards a camera, and Thranduil is standing behind him, looking sharp in a suit. He has one hand on Legolas' shoulder and he looks as happy as him. And in that dream, Legolas is sure that he felt that his father loved him back.

The loud hum of a gate re-opening behind him rattles him awake. He bolts upright and looks around in panic as if he has no recollection of where he is and what he is there for. A butler steps out and gives Legolas a once-over from head to toe.

In turn, Legolas falls conscious of his looks and tucks a loose strand of long hair behind his ear.

"Master Thranduil allows your presence in his home. Please follow me," the burly butler says.

Legolas holds back a chuckle.

"At ease, Alfred," he whispers, saluting him from behind. He almost lunges at the butler when he grabs ahold of his bike without saying a word and parks it near the other luxury cars.

At the point of entry, four steps into the mansion, Legolas' mouth drops at how badly the place reeks of opulence and high status. From furniture to light fixtures to the artworks that hang against dark red accent walls, the Thranduillion mansion does not have room nor respect for low quality items. He closes his eyes and takes in the scent. It smells like a fusion of green tea and fresh bamboo. He treads behind the silent butler as they cover a small portion of the main floor.

What he notices that is almost offending is the constant sparkle of random objects in the room that burst as they catch light barging in from the tall windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. The abnormal amount of brightness is almost making him trip out.

At the end of one of the many hallways, the butler stops in front of a particular door and leaves Legolas.

He hesitates as he grabs the doorknob. Taking a deep breath he finally enters a long, spacious room with nothing but a sturdy oak desk with two sturdy oak chairs situated by the massive stained windows in the opposite end. There is a weak glow in the room, a small burst of rose tint as the Californian sun streams through the window.

He takes one of the chairs and scans the rest of the room, feeling ridiculous because he feels like he is about to sell himself in a doomed job interview. His palms are sweaty and he is nervous and the woman he saw earlier in the car is currently hovering around somewhere behind him.

"What do we have here. Another person trying to claim he is of Thranduil's family lineage?" the still unnamed woman comes around from his left and heads to the window. Legolas sees nothing but her silhouette. "Duly noted."

"Ma'am I have no other intention but to meet my father. I'm not trying to claim..." he trails as he squints at the woman, trying to make out her face. "...anything. Just a bit of his time is all."

"Right. You would just like to get to know him right? Hang out. Catch up. Shoot a couple of hoops," she drips with sarcasm and smells like expensive Bvlgari perfume.

"Sure. That would be nice," he answers innocently.

The woman swiftly walks away from the window, the click of her high heels demanding to be heard, and sidles up close to Legolas. Her voice drops to a whisper.

"I know what people like you are after. I'm way ahead of you, buster."

Legolas does not bat an eyelash and takes time to wonder what the woman really means. He hears the ticking of a clock from somewhere in the room.

"...Actually Buster was my old cat's name. He died of old age. My name is Le-go-las," he annunciates his name carefully as if she was slow to understand. "...I loved that cat..."he adds quietly as he looks far off in the distance.

The woman jerks away as the door opens, beaming at Thranduil from across the narrow room. He glides soundlessly across the macassar ebony hardwood floor with one of the many butlers in tow, clad in tuxedo and white bow tie. His long hair is now neatly pulled back, not one strand astray, and his outfit has changed into a combination of thin cardigan and khaki pants.

He glances at the woman who is now leaning on the edge of the desk before he sits on the oak chair across Legolas. His hand is quick to rummage through the drawer, pulling out a cigar from one of the opened boxes.

"Galadriel. Looks like...you're off on a great start with...my boy here..." he mumbles as he tries to balance the fat Cuban cigar between his lips. He reaches for a lighter in his pocket and smiles at Legolas.

"I am just marveling at the resemblance between you and him! You both are so handsome," she squeals. She then turns to look at Legolas with sharp eyes. "You're his mini-me!"

Legolas gathers all his might to stop his eyes from rolling.

"Is she annoying you? She does that sometimes," Thranduil flicks the lighter.

"Oh please!", she approaches Legolas again and with a big smile on her face, she places a hand on his shoulder. "You will learn to love me."

She leaves the room abruptly; further confusing Legolas and making him more uncomfortable than he already is. He clears his throat and struggles with the next thing he has to say.

"I am not irritated at all. I think she's delightful," Legolas lies.

Thraduil's smile evolves into a full-teethed one. "You're already sounding a lot like me."

Legolas continues to be awkward deep inside. He looks around the room and contemplates the sparkling window, amazed at how superfluous the man in front of him is living his life. Thranduil barely puts effort into waving a hand and it prompts a butler to come rushing to his side. He takes one puff of his cigar and orders two glasses of Amarone wine. It doesn't come to his mind to ask what Legolas might have wanted instead.

Legolas casts the robotic butler a glance before turning to his father.

"The window behind you, it's amazing…I've never seen anything like it."

"That's understandable," Thranduil dismisses him. "It's made of Swarovski crystals."

Legolas' eyes pop out a little.

"…Swarovski!?," he is outraged, ready with an automatic response that has something to do with impoverished nations starving in the world.

"Yes. I'm the CEO of the Swarovski in all of the west coast," Thranduil says as if it's not a big deal. "...One can say I have a penchant for shiny things."

The wine glasses and the wine bottle arrive, placed carefully by the butler on the oak desk. While the butler unscrews the cork of the ten year-old wine, Legolas studies the crystal-embedded stem of the glass.

"You don't say," Legolas says.

There are damn Swarovski crystals everywhere in the mansion.

"It's usually a long, harrowing road to the top. I had my ways," Thranduil takes a sip of the Amarone. "Nice guys never finish first."

The butler hands Legolas a full glass while Thranduil contemplates him with skeptic eyes. Legolas shakes the glass in a circular motion, giving the wine a swirl, bothered by his father's statement.

"You seem successful with what you do. Umm, congratulations," Legolas says and tips the wine glass slightly towards Thranduil.

Instead of saying thanks, Thranduil asks him, "Can you say you are successful yourself?"

Legolas doesn't think twice.

"Well I have a rock band and a girlfriend whom I have healthy relationships with. Even though my band mates are a pain in the ass sometimes. I work as an arbourist up in Thousand Oaks and I love it. I enjoy working outdoors. So yes, I'm confident to say I am successful as well."

Thranduil does not answer for what seems like the longest time, slowly blinking at Legolas over the rim of his wine glass. He puts the glass down on the desk and clasps his hands together.

"What is your net worth?" he asks.

Legolas' eyebrows furrow at him. He suddenly feels extra aware of himself. "Excuse me?"

"What is your financial status?"

"I don't know. Ok, I guess. Enough for me to live comfortably."

"'OK' and 'comfortably' are never good words to keep and use in your vocabulary."

"So let's revise that to 'mind-blowing' and 'excessively'," Legolas breaks into a weak smile.

Thranduil stands up from his seat unannounced, scaring Legolas and the butler. He takes a couple of steps to reach the most unnecessarily expensive window Legolas has ever seen and gazes out, lost in a shallow thought.

"There seems to be a vast world of difference between us, don't you think? It makes me wonder if you really are a descendant of my blood or just someone who looks a hell of a lot like me," Thranduil says, his profile highlighted in faint pink.

Legolas dips his head in hurt. "You're quick to conclude. We've barely exchanged enough sentences that would warrant a full conversation." He pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and surrenders it on the desk. "Here is the legal document that states you're my biological father. I got it from Adoption Foundation of California." He pouts before he follows suit, standing up and ready to make an exit.

Thranduil faces his son almost at eye level. There are two inches of height difference between them. Thranduil is six foot five. "You sound like a highly intelligent man, Legolas. Very articulate. You can make money work for you."

Legolas stops a scoff from escaping his throat and shakes his head, flicking imaginary dirt on his windbreaker sleeve.

"Look, I didn't shamelessly roll in here with my heart in my hand to be lectured about money and how rich I should be. I don't need a financial planner, I need a father. Sorry we wasted each other's time."

Legolas reaches in his front pocket to pull out a hair tie and wears it on his wrist. He then turns around and sloppily collects his long bleached-blond hair with both hands. Once he has gathered all his hair up neatly, he reaches for the hair tie on his wrist.

This emits an odd noise that is a mixture of a squeak and a gasp. Legolas swings his head back to notice Thranduil covering his mouth, but unsuccessful with covering the twitch of his eyes.

"I don't have a crown nor a tiara, so I'd have to make do with a hair tie," Legolas says sarcastically. He does not look entertained. Thranduil is so fixated in Legolas that the flippant remark eases through his ears.

"What's that...on the back of your neck..." Thranduil asks the air between him and Legolas.

Legolas' feet are now frozen and the hands holding his hair together refuse to move. "Oh my god. Is there...a bug...on my neck?"

He could feel Thranduil move closer behind him that he feels his breath on his skin.

"Sweet jumping Jehoshaphat," Thranduil adds without really thinking. There is a scuffle and the butler is now also inches away from his neck and pretty much cheek to cheek with Thranduil. "Is that what I think it is?"

"...I'm not even going to bother asking who Jehoshaphat is," Legolas says quietly.

"The event that we assumed would never come to fruition is here, master Thranduil," the butler says mysteriously.

Legolas blows a puff of air in exasperation. "Alright. Enough of this Twilight Zone. I have reached my freak-out quota for today," he says firmly and finishes tying his hair. "I am out of here!"

"Wait. Give us a moment...master Legolas," the butler pleads with an emphasis on 'master'.

"Awesome. So what exactly am I a master of?," Legolas says with a mischievous smile.

He feels the pressure of a hand on his shoulder, preventing him to step away. He turns around to face his father and then shrugs him off.

"Legolas, are you aware of this unique mark on the back of your neck?" Thranduil inquires.

"Yes. That's my birthmark. It looks like half an anchor," he answers.

Thranduil appears like he's about to break down and turns around, lifting his ponytail up to reveal the back of his neck to Legolas.

"I have the other half to your anchor!" he exclaims with a hint of excitement. Legolas cannot believe it. This man that he thinks is nearly deranged has the exact same birthmark flipped onto the other side, located on the exact same spot on the neck as him. He wrinkles his nose and pulls away.

"...Judging on how exuberant you are, this must mean something huge to you. May I ask what it is..." Legolas trails cluelessly as he watches a kaleidoscope of emotion flutter across Thranduil's face.

"I can't believe it. After so many years, I never thought I would see you again," Thranduil is trying to be calm and composed but there is an obvious light in his eyes that speaks volumes. "...my son!" He grants Legolas a genuine grin for the first time but doesn't move to reach for him.

All the balled-up sarcasm and irritation that Legolas has been churning inside since he entered the Oropherion residence have suddenly washed away, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of being accepted and welcomed and hopefully loved by his estranged father. Before he realizes it, he is blinking back a tiny tear bordering his eye. He is tired of talking and bickering and now chooses to luxuriate in relief and resolution.

Seeing that Thranduil is not the type to initiate any kind of contact, Legolas freely leaps forward to give Thranduil a full embrace, placing his cheek on his father's shoulder with a goofy smile on his face.

"Dad!" Legolas says warmly, tightening his hug and almost shaking Thranduil back and forth.

Thranduil is close to asking to be let go from the embrace but he flushes the thought away.

"Welcome back for the first time," Thranduil whispers.

He can't help but feel joyful, something he does not usually allow himself to feel, let alone has a chance to. His days are occupied by mostly business and money matters, and the upkeep and consequence of everything that comes along with being incredibly wealthy. He has a bit of space he keeps for love, but sometimes he is not even sure himself how much he feels for his girlfriend of a few years, Galadriel.

He looks down on Legolas who is still lost in simple happiness and lifts a hand, but leaves it hanging in mid air. The butler reappears at Thranduil's hand command but quickly comprehends what is unfolding, and backs off, hiding a smile to himself.

Thranduil appears uncertain of what he wants to do next, but he lowers his hand gradually and places it on top of Legolas' head. He begins to pat him in a playful manner until he relaxes and lets out a breath he didn't know he has been holding back.

* * *

><p>It can't be. It's the infamous bat cave. He is beyond stoked. Who knew the bat cave was in Beverly Hills all along.<p>

Thranduil and Legolas stand back as they watch two huge doors open automatically in front of them, triggered by motion detection. From the tiny gap in between the doors, Legolas is granted a glimpse into what is concealed in the 'garage'. Thranduil basically had to drag him there. He said there was something important he needed to show him. Something as important as the mother of all presents that is too many years overdue.

Legolas is the first to step forward and he already looks like all air has sucked out of him. He manages to skirt around a Porsche and a Lamborghini without a drop of drool off of his mouth. He then tears his gaze away and scans the rest of the row of cars that seem to stretch into the next block, shaking his head.

"You have one car per day for like, a whole month. Have you even driven any of these? How do you sleep at night?"

"Maybe once or twice. It's a nice hobby, collecting these things," he pauses to point at the red Pagani Zonda sitting by itself under a string of small spotlights. "That one is my favourite."

Legolas' eyebrow shoots up at how ridiculous this man sounds. "Hundred-thousand dollar hobbies. Not all of us are so privileged..."

Thranduil ignores him and waves his hand at the expanse of the garage that looks like a car show. "Please pick one, for yourself. Leave the Pagani, it is mine."

"With a hundred thousand dollars, I can buy so many bikes," Legolas says, calculating frivolously in his head. "There will be one in every corner of my apartment!"

Thranduil smiles yet again. "Bikes did you say?"

Legolas finds himself in another 'bat cave', waiting again for magical doors to slide completely open while his father stands behind, seemingly bored. Thranduil talks away about which cars he drove to which events in Beverly Hills, be it the Oscars, the MTV awards, and plenty of large business openings he was invited to. He tells Legolas he is not very fond of bikes but he has a bit of an assortment. They both step into the second garage and Legolas' face falls slightly.

"I only have five of these. Like I said, I'm not a big bike person. Since you like them, have all of them," Thranduil offers, nonchalant. "Go give the Ducati a test ride."

Legolas takes a couple of steps forward and turns around to give Thranduil a disappointed look.

"I don't like this kind of bike," he begins, inching towards the Ducati and running a hand across its leather seat. "I prefer bicycles. Mountain bikes I could take through rough terrain. They don't pollute so it's good for..."

He reflexively springs back because Thranduil has started laughing like a maniac.

"Oh right! You are a tree-hugger. That's great, son. Better you than me," Thranduil says as he turns to head out of the garage.

"So you _don't_ have any bicycles," Legolas suddenly turns serious, running across the room to catch up to his father.

"Legolas, do you have a license to ride a motorcycle?"

"Yes. But I stopped riding during first year college. I've been sticking to bicycles ever since."

"Listen, I will have the Ducati delivered to your apartment. In two days I'm throwing a party, because I'm bored, and it's almost New Years. Brush up on your motorbiking skills, huh?"


	3. Chapter 3

He likes to be up early on Saturdays as he likes to take full advantage of weekends.

He jumps into extra hot shower and whips on a random wrinkled shirt and a pair of shorts, dragging his bike out of the apartment as a queue to start the day. He allows the wind and sunshine to dry his loose, perfectly blond hair, and by the time he reaches the deli four blocks from his place, his hair has slightly curled on edges.

With a luxurious breakfast in mind, he grabs a variety of bagels, a slab of smoked salmon, and some type of fancy cream cheese he has not tried before. 'Horseradish' cream cheese, it says handwritten on a tiny sticker on the plastic container. Why the hell not.

The sun feels wonderful on his face, there is delicious food jammed in his backpack and the world seems good today. That, and he is visiting his father again in Beverly Hills.

He could feel the cell phone vibrate in his pocket but he does not need to check who it is. He knows it's Tauriel notifying him that she's already waiting by the apartment lobby for their Saturday breakfast and that she is also starving.

Sooner or later he plans on giving her a duplicate key to his apartment. He has recently played with the idea of giving her access to his place after a drawn-out process of listing the pros and cons if he decides to go with it. It takes quite a while for him to hand out huge amounts of trust to people, let alone warming up to.

The person he is currently working on warming up to is his father. He feels there is so much to learn and discover about the one person he wants to be close to but who is emotionally closed to him. Somewhere in there, beneath the layers of thick bravado, is a person Legolas thinks is waiting to be loved.

He sharply turns around the corner and sees a small crowd outside the main entrance to his apartment, wrapped around a monster of a flatbed truck. His street does not usually accommodate transport vehicles, and because the intersection he lives in is constantly busy, it is attracting some attention. A couple of men hop off the front and walk towards the back of the truck as it beeps. A pearl white Ducati is being lowered to the ground, delivered by a Mr. Oropherion as promised on time.

Mixed in with the milling crowd is Tauriel, admiring the blinding shine of the motorcycle, too occupied to notice Legolas holding on to the bike handlebar in a tense manner, waiting for the pedestrian signal to flick on.

He finally catches her eyes and she nods in acknowledgement, lifting an eyebrow and flashing him a smile from across the street. She raises both arms, halfway and mid-air, and curls her fingers into the palms of her hands, further bending them inward twice, as if mimicking to rev a motorcycle.

* * *

><p>He sits on a bench contemplatively, munching on a sesame bagel and then pausing to scratch his chin. He has now neglected his backpack full of groceries behind him on a bench and Tauriel can't keep still on the leather-covered seat of the Ducati.<p>

She's modelling comically on the motorcycle in front of Legolas who is not really paying attention. Jutting out her chest and sticking out her butt, she gives him a sexy pout and then gives up on it altogether when she notices that he's just staring at the front wheel.

"First world problem huh," she says, running a finger across one of the gauges. She tries another seductive look. "If your dad is just beginning to make up for the years lost by handing you this little toy here like it's no biggie, then I'll be blown away to know what the rest of his gifts are."

"I think he's planning to send four more. This has to stop," Legolas says, popping in the last piece of bread into his mouth. "I don't know where I'm putting this thing."

Tauriel's face falls. "This _thing_ here is begging to be taken out for a ride. Come on, you used to cruise around on this with me. Although I was terrified in the back seat…and it wasn't really a Ducati."

"Why does he have five of these, I don't get it," he feels stupid from asking.

"Simple. Because he can," Tauriel dismounts the motorcycle and hovers around in front of him before picking up his backpack. "You know, it's okay to accept frivolous things, especially from your own father."

"He told me to pick a luxury car, Tauriel, like it's a piece of candy he's giving away," he says incredulously. "…Is it abnormal to not want it?"

Tauriel does not bat an eyelash. "Probably," she pauses and gives him a playful nudge. "You never know, maybe this is just his way of showing affection. Wealthy people are wired a bit differently."

"I don't know. I'd rather have him hang out with me." He looks down on his bagel-free hands and fiddles his thumbs.

"That's a normal thing to want," she chuckles before she brings her cell phone close to his face. "Babe, before you post any Kijiji ad, can you take a picture of me on it? I have to update my Instagram."

* * *

><p>He arrives fashionably late to the fashionable party, without showing off much extravagant fashion.<p>

He is simple and handsome in his solid black shirt and dark washed jeans, long hair gathered neatly in a low ponytail the way his father wears his. Before he gets off his bike he spots a familiar butler friend who was glaring at him from beyond a patch of white roses.

"Master Legolas," the butler greets him, shooting a disappointed look at his non-extravagant bicycle.

"…I'm begging you Jim, do not call me that."

He is ignored. "Master Thranduil is expecting you, Master Legolas. He is in the backyard, left wing by the pool with the other guests. I shall take your bicycle and park it in the garage now."

"Oh, don't you worry about it Jim. In fact, I'll do a loop around and catch him there. Thanks bud," Legolas grins and continues to ride over complex concrete work. He is gone before the butler could argue.

Meanwhile, in the 'backyard' of the mansion, red wine is being poured freely and endless plates of hors d'oeuvres are making the rounds. The three guesthouses built around the main pool are occupied by the regular horde of Hollywood socialites and journalists Thranduil does not care to know, but are present because of distant associations. Laughter and endless chatter envelop the Oropherion mansion, the general vibe pretentious and spunky.

He stands in the middle of a small group, tall in his crisp black suit, and the diamonds embedded in his cuff links reflect as they catch the sun. His movements are slow and controlled, and as usual, he is not generous with words. His right hand holds a glass of wine and his eyes are empty, settled far out on the roof of one of the guesthouses. Wrapped around his neck is a ridiculous golden silk scarf to match his golden, victorious hair wrapped in low ponytail. He then darts quick looks around the corners as if he just remembered something, ignoring the high-pitched laugh of Galadriel standing across from him.

Beside him is his business partner of roughly ten years, Thorin Oakenshield; Harvard-educated, golf enthusiast, and blessed with the looks of a model carved out of a GQ magazine cover. There is a natural sense of dark in his features, his black hair is long, wavy and styled with moose, tied back in a lazy ponytail. But his enchanting eyes give light, for they are the piercing kind of deep blue. His brooding, enigmatic aurora around him is broken as soon as he breaks into a grin.

He nudges Thranduil's elbow to catch his attention and it works, but Thranduil merely rolls his eyes over to look at him. Thorin clears his throat.

"Over a cup of tea one fine Californian afternoon, Galadriel and I were talking about business legacy, because ours is strong and reputable. We were reviewing the growth and scope in the past couple of quarters, and how we can be more innovative and fierce on the marketing side," he pauses to take a sip of wine. "Pandora's giving quite the competition these days. Every teenaged girl has those stupid charms."

"That is barely a problem. Buy out Pandora," Thranduil exhales in a smooth monotone.

Thorin's face freezes before he lets out a full-hearted guffaw in response to Thranduil's very limited answer, chest heaving as he slaps a hand over it. "You're hilarious, Thranduil, you know that? That's why I like you," Thorin goes off, slightly tipping his wine glass and is now starting to show first signs of intoxication. "We ought to do afternoons of tea."

"Thorin, I have meetings lined up and coming out of my ear," Thranduil says as-a-matter-of-fact. "I have no time for 'afternoons of tea'."

"Apparently not, because you never had a care to ever inform me, not even once in our ten years of partnership, that you have 'your' own little, personal legacy," Thorin blurts out and then nods weakly at Galadriel. Now he has Thranduil's full attention because Thranduil's icy blue eyes are piercing through his. Galadriel avoids Thranduil's glare by looking down at her shoes.

Thranduil realizes that the one thing he had kept private for many years is now out in the open. He was not quite sure how to deal with it, but for once he is not deferring a decision by first weighing the pros and cons of reuniting with his estranged son, as his analytical mind would normally drag him through. Instead he focuses on his feelings, and he categorizes them as 'happiness', and even 'relief', and he leaves it at that.

"He's not little. He's a twenty-four year old grown man," he grasps his cool back and corrects a technicality.

"Once you see him, it's obvious where he gets his stunning good looks," Galadriel says proudly and nods at Thranduil, completely ignorant of Legolas' mother. "So far he seems fun-loving, free spirit, and has a _middle finger in the air_ type of attitude towards life…" she trails while Thranduil appears to have zoned out again.

"Obviously he didn't get _those_ ones from you." Thorin refers to Thranduil and is quick to point out with a snicker.

"I believe he's intelligent and life has a lot to offer him. He is also musically talented. He told me he has a rock band" he emphasizes on the word 'rock' as if it was alien and rare. There is a quick flash of interest in his eyes and then it's gone.

Thorin finishes his glass and hails a roaming butler for another fill. "Sounds like a standup guy. So when do I get to finally meet…"

The flow of their conversation is suddenly disturbed by a noise coming from around the corner. An alarmed "_Whoa_!" garners the attention of business owners and B-list celebrities alike, followed by the sound of screeching tires, and finally, a series of undistinguishable kerfuffle.

There goes Legolas flying off of his bicycle, sideswiping a startled butler carrying a silver tray of beef tartare on one hand. Legolas gracelessly plummets into the middle of a well-trimmed hedge after his bike sinks into it first while the butler tips backwards and hits the concrete on a sitting position. The butler helplessly looks on at his scattered beef tartare that layers the top of the bushes while Legolas flings his head above the hedge.

"I'm okay!" declares Legolas in a muffled voice amongst the leaves, lifting a hand and painstakingly gives a thumbs-up. The butler is quick on his feet and tends to the poor soul lost in the bushes.

"Master! Are you hurt?" he asks as he slaps away twigs so he could reach for Legolas.

"Jones…if you call me Master again we will not be friends anymore…" Legolas jokes in a serious way as he emerges, turning up his nose at the butler. "You have a piece of beef in your front pocket."

The butler calmly explains to Legolas that it's a type of fancy hors d'oeuvre and that it is rare but quite good. In the midst of apologizing to the butler for knocking him out, Legolas catches, from his side vision, what he thought was his reflection standing under a gazebo, studying him intensely.

"Hi dad!" he turns and waves towards the reflection. The butler also ends up doing the gesture.

Thorin and Galadriel's jaws hang open in the slightest bit, and in unison turn to Thranduil as if awaiting a form of confirmation.

Thranduil juts his chin out, making his eyes turn into narrow slits, looking on as Legolas awkwardly picks beef tartare from the bushes. There is a small smile on his face. "…my son."

* * *

><p>Legolas fidgets from side to side, finding it hard to jump into the group conversation being led mostly by Thorin. Money figures in large denominations, business transactions and economic terms are being exchanged aggressively between Thorin and Galadriel, and sometimes Thranduil would throw in a couple of quiet comments here and there whenever he felt like talking. Legolas feels a tinge of boredom and switches his focus towards the two women with fake breasts clad in monokini squeal as they jump into the pool.<p>

Thranduil seems suddenly upstarted, as if he just remembered to pay attention to his son who has been standing quietly in his own world.

"Legolas. Have some wine before dinner," Thranduil speaks softly to his son.

"I'm not exactly a wine person. Do you have beer laying around here?" Legolas asks casually, and at the hitch on the note of the question, a butler magically appears on his side to tend to his need.

"We do not have beer, master," a new butler says firmly. Thranduil looks like he's sending a telepathic message to the butler by the way his eyes are darting sideways at him.

"Oh. That's fine. Is there a convenience store close by that I can get to?" Legolas asks again, but he's already expecting no as an answer. Galadriel and Thorin raise their eyebrows as if revolted by the term 'convenience store'.

"Actually no, there isn't any-" the butler begins but is cut-off by Thranduil who is now a little bit worked up for the first time.

"What kind of beer would you like?" Thranduil diverts Legolas from the butler.

There is a rogue glint dancing in Legolas' eyes. For some reason he wants to test how far and ridiculous this can all go. "I prefer Labatt Blue."

The butler pauses and takes his time doing it. "But, that is Canadian beer, if I'm not mistaken? I'm afraid that is not readily and easily accessible…" he is breaking all sorts of rules at this point just by challenging the request of a master of the house.

"Brooker," Thranduil is stern and almost creepy. "Prepare the jet, assign a pilot to Canada, I don't care how you do it. But you will get my son a case of Labatt. Tomorrow, you will see me in my office at nine in the morning."

One can almost see a stream of air following the nervous butler's trail as he made an exit to arrange an important matter such as hauling beer across the border. Legolas' face turns white and his hand comes up to slap his forehead in disbelief.

"...Please don't fire him," he makes a plea. Seeing that his father is non-responsive, the alarm in his head intensifies.

"Dad, I was joking! He didn't have to get me that, really!" he also ends up muffling "Oh my god" because his other hand is covering his mouth. He then tries to recollect his breath. "You have a jet…"

"Do you like Labatt Blue?"

"Yes I do but!—"

"Then you shall receive Labatt Blue," Thranduil finishes the discussion and almost hums before he magnificently lifts the wine glass closer to his lips. There were no additional protests heard from Legolas for the rest of the day.

* * *

><p>Legolas barely left his father's side during the party, gliding in and out of the mansion and hopping from one crowd to the next. He still was not clear on what the party was all about, but some time between meeting an aspiring stripper and when the mushroom polenta diamonds bee-lined their way out of the kitchen, he stopped bothering to remember people's names. He has met plenty of different characters and odd personalities, but there is an underlying impression that unifies his opinion on the elite crowd his father manages to attract. He thinks everyone is a bit of a phony.<p>

He has also witnessed different types of reaction each time Thranduil introduced him as his son; either of dismay or extreme intrigue. He expects a lot of hushed talk about him and behind him as he moved from person to person, but he finds it hard to care.

As dusk rolls around, Thranduil takes a trip all the way to the main library on the second floor of the mansion with Legolas in tow, who now has a special Labatt Blue beer bottle in his hand. By this time Thranduil has had his fourth glassful of wine and is now working on his fifth, but he is still as elegant and poised as the lifeless bronze statue erected in the middle of the driveway roundabout.

The room boasts dark-stained mahogany shelves that stretch from floor to ceiling, and tall windows that let the dying rays of afternoon sun rush through inside. There are beige lamps on each corner of the room; their shades adorned with sparkling yellow crystals that Legolas assumes are strictly Swarovski gems. In the middle of the floor are two white couches with gold trimming and a large coffee table made of wood from a piece of an antique window, originating from India. Beside one of the couches is a round aquarium sitting on top of an end table, with a Siamese fighting fish as its lone resident, dark blue and red in hue.

Legolas sweeps over his father's unbelievable collection of books with delight while Thranduil places his wine down and walks toward a specific section of the wall shelf where the aquarium is nearby. Legolas notices that the majority of the books is of classic literature, from Shakespeare and Tolkien, to Edgar Allan Poe and Jane Austen.

"I haven't seen every single room in here but this is by far the most impressive," Legolas says, pulling a book by George Orwell halfway out and running a hand over the beveled text on the hard cover.

Thranduil is reaching for something inside an empty space of a particular shelf when he looks over his shoulder to speak to his son.

"This is where I go to unwind, escape into a different form of reality. It's my favourite part of the house," he says, pushing a button and then stepping back a little. As if realizing that he may have sounded somewhat sentimental, his face suddenly hardens. "Reality bores me sometimes, it's terrible."

"I happen to think your reality is unreal on multiple levels," Legolas responds, tucking the book back and begins to walk across the room to join his father. "I could've sworn your favourite room was the car garage." He takes a swig of his beer, trying to keep a slow drinking pace.

Thranduil keeps a small smile to himself as he turns away from Legolas and waits as the back of the shelf slide open. What was hidden from plain sight was a small storage area keeping some scrapbooks, folded letters, a locked diary, and a number of photo albums. He picks up a certain album and visibly gathers some nerves before he flips it open.

"These are some of the few pictures I have of you when you were a baby. They are the most precious," Thranduil says, his voice dropping as he moves the album closer to Legolas, revealing a page. There is a picture that was taken from the point of view of someone standing on the bed looking down, and Thranduil and baby Legolas are side by side, facing each other and lying down on their stomachs. Thranduil's hair was a lot shorter then, running down until just about his chin, gloriously fanned against the pillow as he looked up at the camera from a sharp angle with a big smile on his face. Meanwhile, baby Legolas had his thumb positioned to go into his tiny mouth while he was looking up curiously at his father, wisps of thin, blond hair crowning his head. And if one looked closer, their corresponding birthmarks peek from what little was showing of their necks, two perfectly symmetrical shapes that create an anchor once merged.

Legolas' hand subconsciously lifts and snakes to the back of his neck, placing his fingers there for a second. His eyes are twinkling, or bordered with incoming tears, it could've been either one. He is smiling so hard it almost hurts him, but what ends up hurting him more is when he glances up at his father and all he sees beyond his curled up lips is melancholy hidden in the back of his eyes.

Legolas sniffs and shakes his head. "Seriously, dad, you haven't aged one bit," he tries to cheer him up.

Unexpectedly, Legolas reaches out to flip the page over and manages to see a sliver of the next picture. He is sure he caught sight of half of a woman's face, her hair long and strawberry blonde, until Thranduil aggressively shuts the album close at the sound of a butler knocking on the door and letting himself in. Legolas springs back and almost feels guilty from looking at what he felt was something he was not supposed to see.

"Master Thranduil. Word has reached the public after the market close today. The press and paparazzi have made their way through the property and are gathered in the main entrance," the butler sounds grave at the news he has brought on.

"The press?" Thranduil asks.

"Wall Street Journal is one of them. Also Forbes," the butler answers.

"Lock the gates to the back area of the mansion," he orders. The butler nods and leaves the room.

In haste, Thranduil returns the album in the secret compartment and tells Legolas to follow him as he moves across the floor to a set of doors that Legolas has never noticed before, mainly because it has the exact same finish as the wooden shelves.

"I had Thorin arrange partial year-end financial data to be disclosed to the public. For 2014 our company proudly reports a three million dollar annual profit," Thranduil fills in Legolas with regards to the business. "I also asked him to arrange a quick conference outside the main office tomorrow."

"I guess that didn't fare out well. The public seems eager to stick their noses in," Legolas says, watching the back of his father's head as they pause at the door.

Using both his hands, Thranduil grabs the handles and pushes the doors open, welcoming a quick but strong gust of wind that minimally lifts their ponytailed hair. Legolas realizes that they are now on the grand balcony of the mansion, overlooking the main gate and the driveway below. Some of the press are grouped around the bronze statue while some are on the side, setting up their audio and video equipment.

With his hands clasped behind him, Thranduil steps forward to the railing of the balcony and waits for Legolas to stand beside him. It takes one sharp-eyed paparazzi to notice that there is something moving on the balcony above them, and a news reporter to jumpstart a series of rushed noise and inaudible babble from the crowd.

Thranduil concludes that the press is extra excited today because this would be the first time they lay their eyes on Legolas, who was faceless when the rumour first sparked and had been floating around. The noise does not wash out and many cameras have started flashing upwards at the balcony.

"Thranduil, can you confirm if you will host a Swarovski Gala on New Year's Eve? And if so, care to share a part of the invitation list?"

"Thranduil, congratulations on the financial success of your company at the tail-end of the year. Are there any re-structuring or further acquisition on the horizon for you and Mr. Oakenshield?"

"Thranduil, can you confirm if that is your long-lost son Legolas Thranduillion?"

"Legolas! Look over here!"

"Legolas! To your left! Look to your left!"

"Legolas! Why reunite with your father now?"

"Legolas! Give us a smile! Right here, on your right!"

Legolas shifts around as he is shouted at, uncomfortable from the kind of attention that is being paid to him. Thranduil does not seem to be fazed by the barrage of questions and instead, scans the rowdy crowd below them from left to right. His hooded eyes then settle on Legolas', his eyelashes fluttering.

"Look, Legolas. Everything that fuels Swarovski success and keeps me in my high Hollywood status is our kingdom. A corporate king's time as ruler rises and will fall. One day, Legolas, the success will pause on my time here, and will be in continuum with you as the new corporate king."

Legolas is speechless and blinks at his father as a response, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He feels incredibly tense that he is not aware of the strangulation of the neck of his beer bottle and his knuckles are turning pale.

Thranduil chuckles away and in the gentlest tone, tells his son, "Do not come to your workplace on Monday. You will join me in an upper management meeting. I don't expect you to contribute." Thranduil backs away slowly and turns around to head for the door into the library. "I would just like for you to sit with me on the round table."

And with that, his unscheduled public appearance is finished, and all of the flying questions remain unanswered.


	4. Chapter 4

_"Corporate Bigwig Thranduil and Estranged Son – Sudden Reunion at the Announcement of Swarovski's Successful Financial Year-End"_

_"Introducing Swarovski's Heir…Pressure is On to Measure Up and Shine Like his Father_"

_"Thranduil's Long-Lost Son Legolas Greenleaf: An Ungrateful Drunkard?"_

Tauriel's face progressively screws in distaste at each blasted headline on the cover of tabloids lined up outside a convenience kiosk. She picks up the last one with the oversized drunkard title, and underneath; a picture of an angry-looking Legolas caught in the middle of an inconvenient blink, holding a beer bottle up to his chest. To the left is his father looking soft and gentle, stealing a sidelong glimpse at him as they loomed over the rowdy crowd on the ground level.

Tauriel scoffs loudly and waves the magazine at the vendor who is watching from behind the counter.

"This is distribution of inaccurate information, and you are condoning it by selling…," Tauriel struggles handling the tabloid and almost lets it slip through her fingers. "…this trash!"

She flips open the tabloid and skims through it half-heartedly. "So just because he was drinking beer, he is labeled an 'ungrateful drunkard'? This is ridiculous," she talks, but not necessarily to the vendor.

The vendor seems oblivious anyway and responds by scratching his head. After plenty of ticking seconds while observing Tauriel go off about the content of the tabloid, he is finally bothered.

"Hey lady, are you going to pay for that?"

Tauriel perks up as if realizing for the first time that there is another presence around her and places the tabloid down. "No thanks. I'd rather buy the truth!", she taunts the vendor and stomps away.

Minutes later she reaches Legolas' apartment and spots a crowd of paparazzi huddled in the small, secured area before the main lobby, waiting for their chance to snap candid pictures of the budding 'celebrity'. She takes a deep breath before marching across the street and pushes the first door open, intending to squeeze the solid wall of people standing behind the glass wall. Once inside, her shoulders either bang into swinging DSLR cameras, or into other bigger and muscular shoulders.

Despite the buzz around her, she catches a small talk coming from a corner.

"_This place is a dump. I'm sure this guy is a fake."_

_"Must be convenient to look like some big time CEO huh."_

_"It's ok, Joel. Has anyone ever told you that you look like Donald Trump, but much balder?"_

Suddenly, the crowd feels like it's caving in on her. Tauriel hurries as she scoops out her duplicate key with a small cat keychain that looks a lot like Seven, and panics while going through the second set of glass doors. Catching her breath as the door shuts loudly behind her, she steps backwards and squints at the paparazzi studying her, enclosed within the glass wall partition like a bunch of zombies.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure it's just you out there?" Legolas asks through the crack of the ajar door. He has his cheek pressed against it, staring at the chain lock which is stretched to its capacity, the only thing that is keeping him safe from the wild beyond.<p>

"It's just me honey, I swear," Tauriel breathes back into the allowance of the tiny space between her and Legolas. She rests her forehead against the door to his apartment as her hand is poised over the doorknob, her copy of his key still inside the lock.

"Look both ways," he requests stubbornly. Legolas is clearly having none of it today. Tauriel does what she is told and cranes her neck side to side to check for human anomaly while Legolas watches her through the peephole. She then returns her eyes to the small round lens in front of her to confirm the area is clear.

She hears the chain lock slide and a click and the door finally opens, albeit timidly. Legolas looks at her from behind the door with mild ambivalence, half naked with a towel wrapped around him from the waist down, blond locks in a gorgeous wet tangle. There is a bit of water pooled in the middle of his collar bone and Tauriel fights the urge to lick it. Nope. Not today. Not when zombies are invading his apartment.

"Legolas, you can't live like this, cooped up in your apartment and scared of people," Tauriel starts, determined to keep Legolas' life normal. She points at Seven curled up on the window ledge. "That's what your cat does."

"Did you see those paparazzi? They're like rabid wolf packs!"

"You know, some people would kill to have your problem right now." She is trying not to laugh.

"I can't even go to the deli, Tauriel. I probably can't go to Walmart either to buy normal stuff," Legolas says slowly, dawning upon a realization. "Why would people want a problem of not being able to go to Walmart, or the deli?"

At this point she has a hand over her mouth in case snickers. She then examines Legolas with concern and curses internally because had the role been switched, she would probably have a field day with being suddenly famous. She shakes her head and smiles.

"Alright honey. Time to get you all dolled up for your first executive meeting ever!" she dramatically pulls out a black blazer and waves it at Legolas.

"And step out of this apartment to get sacrificed into the fiery pits of paparazzi, no way," he says firmly. Hopping off her favourite spot on the ledge, Seven joins her owner and rubs up against the back of his leg.

* * *

><p>The Swarovski head office is not hard to spot within the hubbub of Los Angeles financial district, for it is the only black-tinted glass building with silver lining framing the whole structure, and bright silver lettering for its signage. Everything was silver and black. Along its main entrance boasts tall palm trees, accentuated with rectangular pots of red bougainvillea crawling around each tree.<p>

Legolas rushes through the hallway of the twenty-second floor as he desperately looks for the main boardroom, his long hair flying loose behind him. Wide eyes and big smiles greet him as the sea of employee automatically parts to give him space at the drop of recognition, some flagging him for a chat. He is wearing his trademark dark jeans and sneakers, and a solid white shirt underneath the black blazer that Tauriel flat ironed for him earlier that morning.

There is a steady murmur in the boardroom when he enters, hesitating to come in as he pokes his head through to check out the size of the crowd. The noise continues despite his appearance and only a few people cared to look up and acknowledge him, making him breathe with relief. The employees are still scribbling, lost in conversations with each other. Legolas scans the long table and on the very opposite end is a red, notably more luxurious chair standing out amongst the black ones. On the table he notices a voluptuous aerator with red wine inside, and an empty wine glass placed beside it which further confirms that it is his father's designated spot. To the left side of the red chair he notes a brown leather-bound notebook and a coffee mug with steam still coming out of it, indicating that it is also taken. And finally, to the right, is a cold Labatt Blue beer bottle sitting atop a coaster bordered with blue crystals, arranged just for him.

He can't help but feel special and spoiled as he makes his way to his appointed chair, glancing back at the door to see if his father is trailing behind him. The two of them seem to be the final attendees to the meeting. Once he is settled, he sees Thorin on the other end of the table standing close by the projection board in the front of the board room, smirking with his arms crossed.

Legolas scans the room satisfyingly, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. "This has got to be the snazziest board room I have ever been in."

"And I trust you haven't seen many," Thorin responds to his comment.

Legolas sits back comfortably and clasps his hands over his chest, twiddling his thumbs. "…Actually, this is the only one I have ever been in."

Thorin chuckles, glancing down at his shoes. When he looks back up, his glorious black hair bounces in slow motion. "Glad you finally found your way in, Mister Thranduillion," he says with that accent that Legolas can't quite decipher.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Legolas apologizes as he reads the time on the wall, realizing they're fifteen minutes past the meeting kickstart. As he looks down the length of the table he is distracted by a pair of light purple eyes zeroing in on his, accompanied by long silky blanket of black hair cascading down her shoulders, and her complexion is as pale as porcelain. The woman gives him a lopsided grin when she notices that she finally had his attention.

"Don't be that sorry. Someone else is running even later than you," Thorin answers and waggles his eyebrows knowingly. "Like father like son, huh?" he continues, as if he said something clever. He nods while approaching Legolas, challenging him to answer, halting from within a foot's reach.

Legolas clears his throat and looks up at Thorin. "Amazingly, that is true. And what's even more amazing is that it is probably the one and only thing we have in common, right Thor?"

He shrugs his shoulders when he catches sight again of the purple-eyed woman still staring at him, a bit of Thorin's long hair obstructing his side vision. A different door that is camouflaged within a wall opens in the far end of the massive board room and everything falls silent. Thranduil waltzes in with his cell phone plastered to his ear, absorbed in a dialogue and light in tread, wearing his hair down like Legolas. Someone appears on cue and pours red wine into Thranduil's glass and then tends to the beer bottle after. But no commotion stops Thorin from scooting closer to whisper something important to Legolas.

"You listen, junior diva. Never call me Thor again, never use your jack ass tone on me, so you sit there tight and shut up for the next hour because I am running this meeting in which you and your sparkling father have already delayed."

Legolas' thumbs freeze in mid-twirl, letting Thorin's warning settle in after the initial shock. Much to his dismay he watches his father take his time on the phone, and makes a wish for him to get to his seat sooner.

Thorin pulls away from his ear and Legolas lets out a small puff of air through his mouth, only for Thorin to draw right back in, and says for the last time before heading back to the front projection board, "By the way, that's _my_ rightful chair you're sitting in."

Legolas looks down at himself before falling slack into the seat as he is finally left alone, suddenly discouraged from staying to hear the rest of the meeting. He wears a frown by the time his father is floating past behind him.

Thranduil only acknowledges his son's presence by placing a hand on top of his head and ruffles his hair, shocking the whole table and making someone gasp. Legolas is caught off-guard and is delighted by this unforced playfulness, beaming like an idiot who's been deprived of affection. Thranduil nestles into his chair and barely puts energy into making a lazy gesture with his hand that looks like shooing off a fly. Amazingly this sets off the meeting and Thorin's assistant proceeds to make the introduction.

* * *

><p>Two women in their early-twenties pose for their cell phones while holding up cold Starbucks beverages, enjoying the afternoon sun in the patio. Their feet are surrounded by large shopping bags from high-end retailers, and the item being shared on a small plate is a gluten-free blueberry scone. One of them finally takes up a fork and knife and starts slicing into the scone, almost embarrassed to be the first one to eat.<p>

Legolas watches this charade in Starbucks from an upscale coffee shop called Café Sonoma, exuding elegance and mostly business people in complete business attire, a couple of hours after the meeting adjourned.

He falls the tiniest bit conscious of what he is wearing, being the only customer in the café on a Monday lunch hour without a tie. He also begins to over-analyze the amount of food he is eating compared to others, which is abnormal to him. There is a parade of freshly baked goodies consisting of prosciutto and brie Panini, three alfajores, a cheese raisin roll, warm chickpea salad and a caramel macchiato.

He is convinced that business meetings bore and starve him at the same time.

He glances down at his father's pathetic lunch combination of eggs benedict with a glass of aranciata dismissively across the round table and look up only to catch him staring back at him in what he categorizes as disbelief.

"I know dad. I feel fat."

Thranduil picks up a fork and pokes at one of the eggs. "You see, that right there is one of the many reasons why I am hesitant to step foot in a Starbucks."

They tilt their heads in unison to see the girls urgently fixing their hair and still taking selfies of themselves but with their oversized shades on this time. Legolas decides it's best to stop watching as soon as the girl with the ice blue highlights starts to reach down her purse for a lipstick.

"Really, I would've been fine with Starbucks. This place is too fancy. They only let me through in jeans and without a tie because you're with me," Legolas says as he pops an alfajore in his mouth. "Besides, we could have also done without these violinists."

There are two women dressed in frilly white dresses playing violin from somewhere behind them, their bohemian wavy blonde hair catching sun and giving them an angelic glow. Classic music fills the air, providing a unique kind of live entertainment in the patio area of the café.

Legolas leers at a violin and adds, "It feels like we're on a date."

"I have the right to enjoy a delightful piece of violin concerto in D minor whenever I want," Thranduil answers with his nose upturned. He takes a sip of his aranciata and closes his eyes in contentment.

"Well then, if it is accessible music you wish to have whenever you want, may I suggest Spotify?," Legolas asks in an exaggerated salesman tone, fumbling with his cell phone whilst trying to keep eye contact with his father to see if he is interested.

"What is this Spotify device," Thranduil answers blankly and continues. "The violin music is a simple gift from the owner of the café. I personally invest in their business. I provided them funds so they could purchase the best, most expensive coffee and espresso machines made in Italy. In turn, I receive a share of their earnings."

Legolas nods and downs half the mug of the caramel macchiato. "It was nice to learn about some of the Swarovski business operations during the meeting. College education came in handy so the lingo wasn't very alien to me."

Thranduil's ears perk up. "I am very glad you enjoyed it. However, we barely scratched the surface," he smiles big at his son who is now wolfing down the chickpea salad. Legolas pauses from chewing and feels as though he has accidentally opened a floodgate. His father continues, "I will have someone send you a communication containing the date and location of the next meeting."

Legolas gets hit by a mild sense of dread. But he figures that he'll get a positive kick out of it because it makes his father happy, and it will also give them a chance to spend more time with each other.

Despite the current awesome state he is in, there is one lingering inquiry that hangs over his head, a purposeful itch he has been trying to scratch. He pushes his fork and plate aside, along with his anxiousness. He realizes the amount of scheming his mind is churning through and feels silly from it because he thinks he shouldn't be. He clears his throat and hopes for the best.

He turns once again to glance at the two girls over in the Starbucks patio.

"I bet mom liked Louis Vuitton huh. I bet she had quite a collection." He squints to get clarity and mouths 'Christian Louboutin', reading one of the girls' bags and almost slaps his forehead.

His face crunches while Thranduil lets out a full-blooded guffaw.

"Oh, goodness gracious, no. Your mother ridiculed Louis Vuitton merchandises," Thranduil brings a pinky finger to the corner of his eye. He then lowers his gaze and finds the well-used fork laid across Legolas' plate very interesting. His right hand hovers hesitantly over a handkerchief on the table before resting it down, his fingers tapping against the cloth like a morse code.

Something in Legolas had always thought his father is not the type to squirm in any situation, until that one moment he finally asks of his mother.

Legolas grows a bit uneasy from the way his father seems to have vocally collapsed, still staring at his fork, or something on his plate. He is in the middle of gathering breath to retract his question when Thranduil finally resumes to speak, his lips aching to turn into a soft smile.

"Actually, no. Your mother did not think nor speak ill of Louis Vuitton, or anything at all. Your mother was in fact…a very lovely, wonderful person…" Thranduil says in a trance, his eyes now slowly circling the table as if searching for something. "She liked Hermes."

Legolas leans in forward to get a sense of his father's train of thought and found no train. Instead, both jump into the back of their seats as an upbeat voice greets them from the sidewalk, destroying every momentum that Legolas feebly tried to build. It's the woman from the meeting, with the luscious black hair and China doll skin.

"Hi guys, I hope I'm not interrupting your lunch date!" she says as her hair brushes against her cheek. She is staring unabashedly at Legolas.

"Of course not," Legolas is at the brink of rolling his eyes.

"Son, this is Arwen, one of our project coordinators. Arwen, this is Legolas," Thranduil formally introduces the two. Legolas stands up and walks towards the sidewalk, extending his arm over the low metallic barricade bordering the patio to shake hands with Arwen.

"I remember you," she almost winks. "You're the mysterious observer in today's meeting. So what tricks did you pull to be able to drink beer in that board room?"

Legolas has his innocent face on. "No tricks. Only asked kindly the mysterious mobile bartender who kept appearing to fill in dad's glass," he answers, emitting a string of giggles from Arwen.

"You know, they have a single malt scotch hidden in the eighth floor kitchen pantry, and it's usually locked," she suggests to switch his choice of drinks.

"It is also Thorin's floor and where he happens to spend most of his disposable time," Thranduil adds, easing back into his chair, his long limbs stretching out.

Arwen and Thranduil open a round of tamed laughter at this inside joke while Legolas remains quiet.

"Speaking of Thorin, he mentioned Legolas could've jotted some key points down so he won't feel excluded and clueless in the next meeting," Arwen addresses Thranduil but is looking at Legolas.

"I apologize, I came out empty handed. I should've been given a notepad rather than a bottle of beer," he jokingly sneers at his father with an arched eyebrow. Thranduil chuckles.

"Well, if it helps, maybe we can go over my summary notes together one of these days," Arwen advises Legolas. She does not wait for a response and turns on her heels, starting to walk away.

"Arwen, save some of that charm for the old partner McDougan tomorrow. He needs to review and sign a godforsaken document that has been pending for months," Thranduil talks to her back as she continues to stride down the sidewalk like a model. Arwen merely waves her hand before she disappears into the street corner.

"By the way, my girlfriend's name is Tauriel!" Legolas attempts a last minute declaration but Arwen is obviously already gone. Legolas reclaims the seat across his father's and asks, "Do you think she heard that?"

Thranduil does not answer the half-assed question because he is too busy surveying him.

"Son, who are you wearing?"

Legolas' reflex reaction was to burst out laughing. Seconds later he wipes imaginary tears away and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I never thought I'd ever get asked that…but uhmm," he pauses and scans over himself, "they don't have names but uhh, this shirt is Old Navy and so are the pants, the jacket is Banana Republic."

Thranduil places an elbow on the armrest of the chair and languidly rubs his chin, judging Legolas like a fashion victim crying out for help. Legolas purses his lips, facial features softening as he realizes what is about to unfold.

Thranduil dishes out an iPhone from his pocket and speed-dials a contact, curtly commanding to cancel his 3 o'clock to whoever was on the other line. He hangs up the phone and smiles at Legolas. "My boy. You and I, we are going on the most epic retail shopping you will ever experience."


End file.
